


Christmas Ficlets

by sawuhs



Category: Boondock Saints (Movies), Borderlands, Captain America, Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Inception (2010), Merlin (TV), Sherlock (TV), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom, Supernatural, The Avengers (2012), X-Men (Movies)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-22
Updated: 2012-12-22
Packaged: 2017-11-21 23:48:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 3,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/603402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sawuhs/pseuds/sawuhs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of Christmas ficlets that were requested, then written and sent out this year in form of cards. Since it's Christmas, every ficlet has a Christmas theme to it (mostly first Christmas spent together between the pairing). No crossovers. 100 ~ 500 words for each ficlet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Index

To look for the pairing you want to read. You can Ctrl + F the tag that's stated at the end of each pairing!

Index:

Avengers – Frostiron (Angsty) #FIA

Avengers – Frostiron (Non-angst) #FIH

Borderlands 2 – Handsome Jack/Axton #HJA

Borderlands 2 – Tiny Tina + Gaige #TTG

Captain America – Steve/Peggy #SP

Good Omens – Crowley/Aziraphale #CAZ

Inception – Eames/Arthur #IEA

Merlin – Arthur/Merlin #MAM

Sherlock BBC – John/Sherlock #SHJ

Sherlock BBC – Moriarty/Sebastian #SMM

Skyfall – James/Mallory #00M

Skyfall – James/Q #00Q

Skyfall – James/Silva #00S

Supernatural – Dean/Impala #SDI

The Boondock Saints – Murphy/Connor #BDS

X-Men – Remy (+ Tony and Loki) #RTL


	2. #FIA

“I don’t get it,” Tony tells him. His knuckles are clenched against the table, but nothing is as tight as the expression on his face. “What went wrong? Because I gave this my all, Loki. And you’re deciding to leave me?”

Loki doesn’t reply for a moment, but when he does, his back remains faced to Tony, his gaze straight out the window. “You have done nothing wrong,” he says calmly. “It is inevitable that we shall not last. You are mortal, and I, a god.”

“So fucking what?” Tony lashes out at him. “Do I really mean that little to you? What about those times that you said you loved me, huh? Were they just a big joke to you?”

The reason why Loki doesn’t reply this time is not because he’s agreeing to Tony’s words, but because it’s the complete opposite of what Tony has said. He just doesn’t want to lead Tony on any longer.

“It’s over, Stark,” Loki says eventually, his voice soft. “This is goodbye. Merry Christmas.”

By the time Tony finishes letting the last of his scotch burn down his throat, Loki is long gone.


	3. #FIH

“What do you think I am?” Loki hisses at Tony. He’s about an inch away from snapping and giving the mortal a slap, but this is one of the stupidest reasons about why he should. “Of course I know what ‘Christmas’ is. Do not for one second even think that I am dumb!”

If it weren’t for how sexy Tony thinks Loki looks when he is angry, he really would have backed down ages ago. “Well,” he says, hiding behind the couch. “You’ve got to admit you are pretty dumb when it comes to certain things.”

Seconds before a lamp is thrown at him which he dodges, Tony hears Loki screeching his full name. It makes him chuckle, the way Loki fumes, but Loki hearing him laugh only makes him fling something else at Tony.

“Alright, alright,” Tony says, putting his hands up in surrender. “I was just pulling your leg. No need to break more stuff. You’re only going to get Pep upset.”

Loki pouts but lets Tony approach him and circle his arms around his waist. “I’m sorry,” Tony whispers into his ear before kissing his jaw. “Accept my apology and go open the gift I got you?”

It takes Loki a while, but he finally huffs and nods. “It better not be one of those stripper things you got me like the last time.”

“Well, fuck,” Tony jokes, and gets a hit over the head.


	4. #HJA

“Come on, pumpkin,” James murmurs, thumbing at Axton’s temple. “Open up— ah, that’s a good boy.”

Axton does his best not to make eye contact with Jack, but when he does, his eyes have nothing but contempt for the name. Had he full control of his own body, he wouldn’t hesitate to bite off Jack’s cock. Instead, he lowers his head and lets more of Jack’s length fill his mouth, down his throat. He gags, springing unwanted tears to his eyes, yet he only moves to let his mouth fuck Jack’s cock. He’s never wanted to make anyone suffer so badly before.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Jack coos. “You’re nothing more than a harmless kitten.”

So when Jack sees Axton making an attempt to snarl, he threads his fingers into Axton’s cropped yellow hair and yanks down. The tip of Jack’s cock hits the back of Axton’s throat violently and all Axton can think about how he can differentiate between his saliva and Jack’s sticky, sour pre-cum, and about how he loves and hates the way Jack holds his hair, his head.

Jack pulls Axton up, making sure the ex-solder’s mouth is still wrapped around an inch of his cock. He chuckles when he feels Axton willingly tongue at his slit and the underside of it, as if begging.

“It’s almost as if you were born to suck my dick,” says Jack, smirking down at Axton, whose face is completely flustered.

In retaliation, Axton fights his bonds and slides his mouth down on Jack in one swift motion, making Jack’s hips lift off the chair. Despite the rebellion in that, Jack moans in approval without loosening his grip on Axton’s hair. And while Axton could feel Jack’s cock jerk in his mouth, he could feel his own pulsing in his pants.

He doesn’t stop sucking on Jack’s length, but within a minute, he’s thrusting shamelessly into nothing, in desperate need of friction.

Seeing this, Jack shifts his foot to let Axton rut against it. “Just like a dog,” Jack mocks between grunts, but soon, his cock is twitching, nearing his peak. He snatches Axton backwards when he spills, making sure to get most of it in his mouth but also all over his face.

Now kneeling and sitting on his ankles, Axton is a shuddering wreck. It doesn’t stop him from licking his lips even after he’s swallowed the come in his mouth entirely.

“Look at you,” Jack teases. Axton had come messily and stained the front of his pants, and he had made no sound from forcing himself to have dignity not to do so. Regardless, the dazed look in his eyes betrays him. He wants more.

But Jack stands up and dresses himself, all the while saying, “Maybe I’ll keep you around a little longer since you’ve proven to make such a good pet, hmm? Think of that as your present. Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”


	5. #TTG

“And I was like, BOOM BEETCHES!” Tiny Tina yells, spilling her cup of tea all over the table. “Oops.”

Ignoring the tea spilled, Gaige leans forward and rests one arm on the table, grabbing a new cup and pouring tea into it with her mechanical one.

“Pfft,” she says, making Tiny Tina huff. “Gurl, you get out too little. You shoulda seen me yesterday. Fifty-three headshots in a row, and mah bot fried them dead bodies anyway!”

Tiny Tina sighs and slumps in her seat. “I know, I know. It ain’t my fault Sir Reginald and Princess Fluffybutt need me, ya know? But dayum, don’t you get ‘round.”

“Damn right I do,” Gaige says, casually throwing a crumpet at Tiny Tina, who lets it smack her in the face. “Join us sometime. I’ll show you a helluva good time.”

“Maybe,” Tiny Tina grins. “Gotta see if I get bored and junk.”

Rolling her eyes, Gaige replies with, “Whatever. Happy Christmas, butt.”

“That ta you too, sucka.”


	6. #SP

The first time they spend Christmas together, they are in a campsite hidden somewhere in the forests of Italy. It’s far from the Christmas atmosphere that Steve remembers when he was home, but the soldiers in camp don’t seem to let the lack of Christmas decorations bring them down at all.

“Are you not going to join the rest of the boys, Rogers?” Peggy asks. She has an extra layer of jacket wrapped around her, and her lips look a little pale even with her red lipstick on. If she’s cold, she doesn’t show it at all.

“In a moment,” Steve replies, offering her a lopsided smile. “Just thinking about stuff.”

She takes the seat next to him and looks into his eyes. There’s a little hint of mischievousness in them. Then, she says, “Nothing to take you off Santa’s nice list, I hope.”

At that, Steve flusters and throws his hands up, half-yelling, “What? No!”

Chuckling, Peggy leans forward and kisses him on the cheek. “I’m only teasing, Rogers. Merry Christmas.”

It’s only when she is still laughing and walking away that Steve manages a “M-Merry Christmas to you too.”


	7. #CAZ

“Um,” Aziraphale says, just as he adjusts his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose.

“This would be considered blasphemy for us, you know that,” replies Crowley. He inspects the box in his hand, the expression on his face is a cross between a frown and a smirk. “I suppose that sounds about right.”

“As long as no harm comes to you, dear.”

Crowley nods as he pulls on the ribbon of the box. In it is a red and black tartan scarf that makes Crowley scrunch his nose distastefully. But when he looks up and sees the hopeful look on Aziraphale’s face, he sighs and exchanges his own scarf for the tartan one.

“Thankssss- oops.”

Chuckling, Aziraphale says, “You’re very welcome. Merry Christmas, dear.”

“’Course. That to you too, angel.”


	8. #IEA

They’re in a dream when Christmas happens. There isn’t snow, but there are decorations on the buildings, and the way some of the projections run out from the stores to wish them ‘Merry Christmas’ tells Eames exactly how Arthur feels about this holiday.

“I never thought you’d be one to enjoy Christmas so much, Arthur,” Eames quips with a cheeky smirk. “I had always imagine you sulking with some miserable cat you’d pick off the streets just to give you company.”

“I can shoot you, and I will if you say one more thing about it,” warns Arthur, his voice a low growl.

Eames pouts and takes a step forward to make them face each other. “You harm me, darling,” he says, which makes Arthur glare pointedly at him.

When Arthur looks up, he’s yelling at himself for his mind has put them both under a mistletoe. Regretfully, Eames’ eyes follow his.

“Oh, look. A mistletoe,” he comments easily, then takes a step forward to give Arthur a kiss so hot that it makes Arthur’s toes curl. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

“I hate you.”


	9. #MAM

“Do hurry up!” Arthur yells, a hint of irritation in his voice. “The sun’ll be down by the time you move that lazy arse of yours!”

“You’re one to talk,” mutters Merlin. He’s carrying at least three different bags. In all of them is a little gift for each household in Camelot.

“What was that?” Arthur calls, turning back to shoot Merlin a meaningful look, who immediately plasters a bright smile on his face.

“Nothing!” he replies. “Come on, don’t want to keep the villagers waiting now, do we?”

Rolling his eyes, Arthur proceeds down to the next house and gives it a knock.

By the end of the day, Merlin is fully beat and Arthur still looks filled with energy.

“Will that be all?” Merlin asks, giving his shoulders a roll. “I’m starving.”

“Is that all you think about?” Arthur jokes. “But yes, that will be all.”

Merlin lets a huge sigh of relief and makes a little bow before he starts walking away. But as he does, Arthur calls out his name then throws a little bag at him. He fumbles with it a little before it’s properly in his hands.

“Merry Christmas, Merlin.”

“Oh, wow. Thanks, Arthur. Happy Christmas to you too.”


	10. #SHJ

“John,” Sherlock says. “John. You cannot possibly expect me to wear this. It’s absolutely ridiculous.”

Taking a step back, John allows himself to look over the consulting detective. He’s right, John thinks. No one could possibly look good in that scarf.

“It just seemed like a good idea at that moment,” confesses John, scratching at his cheek.

“I ought to thank the Queen you didn’t get me a sweater instead. A scarf with reindeer prints is bad enough.”

John sighs, closing the distance between them. He sets his hands on Sherlock’s lapels and offers him a half-grin. At that, Sherlock takes the initiative to kiss the army doctor.

“Well, Merry Christmas, Sherlock.”

“Merry Christmas, John.”


	11. #SMM

“Come on Sebastian,” Jim says, his voice thick with impatience. “I haven’t got all day.”

Growling, Sebastian pulls away from his sniper rifle, not at all caring if he loses sight of his target. “It would be easier if you’d just shut the fuck up, mind.”

It earns him a glare, but Jim replies far too sweetly with, “Now, now. That’s not way to speak to someone who got you out of that shithole, Seb. Darling, you ought to show me more respect.”

Hearing that, Sebastian spits his cigarette by Jim’s feet and says, “I’ll show you respect when I feel up for it. Merry fucken Christmas, by the way. Next year, let me rot in that shit hole of mine and drink the day away, yeah?”

“It’ll be a Merry Christmas when you shoot that bastard’s head off, sweetheart,” Jim tells him, grabbing a fistful of hair to force Sebastian to look back into the scope. “But I’ll reconsider. Happy Christmas to you too, tiger.”


	12. #00M

When the first Christmas happens between the both of them, Mallory still has a cast on his arm, and James has just returned from yet another mission.

“Do you know why you’re in here?” Mallory asks. If it weren’t for his arm, James is almost certain that Mallory would be steepling his fingers together.

When James doesn’t reply, Mallory continues with, “Your Quartermaster has been nagging about how you always fail to bring back any of the devices he gives you.”

“Is that so,” James says with an eyebrow raised. “Well, someone has to keep that child on his toes.”

This seems to somehow get a rise out of Mallory, because he’s leaning back in his seat, laughing easily. “007, I assure you. He is far from the child you think he is.”

“Don’t let him fool you, M,” James replies with a wink. And in that moment is the first time they exchange genuine smiles. Mallory is the one who flushes, just subtly, and looks away.

“I trust I can take my leave. Merry Christmas, Gareth.”

“Merry Christmas to you too, um, James.”


	13. #00Q

The first Christmas that’s spent between them isn’t quite far off from Skyfall. James has already been put through another mission and Q, well. Q still has spots.

“Take a left turn,” Q instructs, his voice soft in James’ ear. “You should lose them soon enough.”

There’s no reply from James, but five minutes later, James says, “I’ve lost him.”

Q hums approvingly and takes a sip of his tea. He can hear the sound of James breathing, calming down from the long run. Noticing this, he flushes briefly.

“I trust you have the tape secured,” he forces himself to say. He curses at himself mentally when he hears the crack in his voice. He hopes James has not-

“You aren’t ill, I hope,” James says, which makes Q want to strangle the agent.

Instead, he makes himself reply with, “I’m not.”

“Good,” James chuckles. “You’re alright to eat the box of chocolates I left you under your desk then.”

Through his earpiece, James hears a series of clutters and a bit of swearing that makes him highly amused.

“I thought you were pulling my leg,” Q confesses. He seems to be chewing on something. “Thank you, 007.”

“”I see it’s to your liking. Merry Christmas, quartermaster.”

“Merry Christmas. Come back safely and you shall have your present.”

James laughs, and grins to himself. “I shall try.”


	14. #00S

If there’s a fire roaring in the fireplace before him, he does not see it. And if there is a glass of gin in his hand, he has forgotten about it. Instead, his mind sees a story played in his past.

He wonders if Silva remembered him at Skyfall— he had went by a different name back then, went by a different look— but he doubts so from the way Silva had spoken to him and touched him.

He was seventeen back then. Silva had been at least thirty. It didn’t stop them from doing what they did. James was a fresh face in the MI, the newest recruit. Even then, they had a use for him. He was Silva’s toy, in a way. He didn’t have much of a choice. Orphans usually don’t, and that’s why they often make the best recruits.

It went on for only two years, for hardly anything lasted in the MI. But for as far as he can recall, James remembers the way Silva held his neck when they kissed, or when James was to have his mouth wrapped tight around Silva’s cock. Silva was always in control. And even if it was James above Silva with Silva’s length buried deep in him, Silva was still the one who controlled how hard or how fast they went.

Then one day, all had gone sour. Silva was taken away and James was suddenly not his toy anymore. They had no goodbyes, but that didn’t matter. Silva was gone, and it wasn’t James’ time for his name to become a number yet. So James moved on to be some other agent’s toy instead.

He had almost forgotten about Silva, he supposes. It was only during Skyfall that it all came back to him. He could tell that it wasn’t the same for Silva. Everybody moves on, in one way or another.

Circling his glass, James notices that the ice has melted, and that the fire was dying down. He smiles to himself, soft and bitter, then raises his glass.

“Merry Christmas,” he says to no one, then finishes his drink. He wonders if dead people can hear things beyond their graves.


	15. #SDI

If there’s one thing Dean knows to count on, he knows to count on his Impala. Because Sam and Castiel had never always been there, and Bobby, or John, won’t ever be there again.

So the one thing that is constant in Dean’s life is the ’67 Chevy Impala that had been there when he was a child, a teenager, a young adult, then a full-grown adult, and now.

He knows the car like the back of his hand, the only thing in the world he knows to be more familiar than home and not just because it has grown to be his.

It’s the only place he’s ever spent so much time in, and they do say your first independent home will always stay closest to your heart.

“Merry Christmas, baby,” Dean whispers when the second hits midnight, and he gives the steering wheel a little pat.

The car seems to hum in response.

“Dude, were you talking to the car again?”

“Shut up, Sammy. Go back to sleep.”


	16. #BDS

Today, Murphy is twenty-six when he is lying down next to his twin who is fast asleep and snoring just lightly. It’s Christmas eve, which means Murphy is still buzzed from their trip to McGinty’s.

And lying there on his side, Murphy’s eyes searches over Connor’s face. He’s looking for nothing, but just like that, he starts to recall the earliest Christmas he can remember they had ever spent together.

They were six, and at that point of time, Connor was just about two inches taller than his brother. He was quick to grow, Connor. Murphy had been a scrawny, scrawny child.

That Christmas had been spent with Ma, who had cooked them a nice family meal. They didn’t receive Christmas presents that year, but a cosy home to keep them from the cold and each other were all they needed. Murphy also remembers that that was the first time Ma had ever let them stay up. The habit never kicked.

“Murph?” Connor calls, voice thick with sleep.

Blinking, Murphy notices that his brother has an eye cracked open. “Yeah?”

“Go ta bed, ye dumb arse. Yer creepin’ me out.”

Murphy sighs and punches Connor lightly, who proceeds to wind his arm around Murphy’s waist.

“Sleep,” Connot says, shutting his eye.

“Mmkay,” is all Murphy can reply with, and does.


	17. #RTL

Every Christmas Remy has spent in his life usually has him sitting at a bar by himself. This year isn’t any different. However, he has his Stark Phone (that Tony practically forced onto him) turned on and seated next to his glass of gin and tonic. He’s expecting a phone call. Something he never had in his previous years.

“It’s getting late, mate,” the bartender says. “She’s never going to call ya.”

Remy smirks at her and shakes his head, saying, “Non, cher. They’ll be callin’ me. They just gotta figure out that I ain’t in the house.”

Just as the bartender throws her head back in laughter, his phone rings.

“If you’re callin’ about a debt,” sings Remy, making the bartender amused. “You’ve gotten the wrong number, sweetheart.”

On the other end of the line, Loki and Tony are yelling for him to get his ass home, otherwise he’s in deep trouble. Not that he minds. Trouble is his second nature, after all.

“Boys, boys,” Remy sighs. “Calm down. I’ll be home when I feel like it.” There’s more yelling, but he hangs up.

The bartender chuckles and tells Remy, “Well, I was wrong. That’s some boys ya got there.”

Remy smiles to himself as he finishes his drink. “You’re right, ‘bout that part.”

“Uh huh. Ya best be getting home, la.”

Nodding, Remy flashes her a wide smile. “Thanks, cher,” he says, getting up. “Merry Christmas.”


End file.
